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“Alice, your father wants you in ten minutes.” Alice slammed her book down and sighed heavily before making her way over to the intercom on the far wall. “Fine.” Alice’s voice was exasperated as she spoke into the system. She walked over to a large floor-to-ceiling picture of a fruit bowl and pressed her index finger onto the pear’s stem. The image swung inwards to reveal a huge closet. Alice hurried in and began tapping at a small silver device on the wall. She selected ‘recently worn items’ and a hideous lemon yellow, full skirted dress shot out of the wall, along with matching shoes and bead necklace. She dragged them on and darted out of the room. She froze for a second, trying to think of what to do next. She sprinted to a bookcase and removed a thin, red leather book. There was a faint clicking noise and that too opened into a room, this time resembling an expensive salon. She sat in a padded leather chair, tilted her head back and placed her long fingers on a white table that swung in front of her. Two spider like, electronic hands slid from the ceiling and began to tie and tease her chestnut locks into place, while another pair painted her nails and did her makeup. The hands retracted only minutes later, and Alice almost tripped over her disgustingly shod feet to make her way out of the salon and her room. She stumbled out of the door and skidded down the stairs before arriving, breathless, at her father’s private quarters.
“Hi...” she gasped for breath as she crashed into his reception, “Sarah.” The secretary pursed her lips and fixed her ice blue eyes on her disapprovingly. “Your sister was here five minutes ago. You may go in. The president of the United States of America is here.” Alice nodded and composed herself, fixing on an angelic smile that she reserved for the times when she had to be the delicate, charming daughter of the Prime Minister of Great England. She opened the door and dropped into a slight curtsey. “Good afternoon, President Arcing, Father, Rosemary. I do hope you are all well. Please, forgive me for my terrible timing. It was not intended.” “It is fine, my dear. Do take a seat.” said her father, Prime Minister Moors, lifting Elizabeth onto his knee and smiling back as graciously, but his eyes stayed the same; cold, calculating, harsh. “As I was saying to President Arcing, it is important for Great England to become an independent country, yet still with close friendships to our neighbouring and further afield countries.” “Of course,” Alice gushed, faking interest and agreement, “After all that Great England has fought for, independence, freedom, it is incredibly important for us to keep close to the other countries that have been our allies since this magnificent change occurred.” Arcing smiled. “I gotta say, it is good how you youngsters are interested in politics.” laughed Arcing, shaking his head. “Lots of us are, President Arcing. Ever since the change happened we have noticed that lots more have become fascinated with the ever changing, but stable politics that keep this country running.” Alice lied smoothly, “Perhaps it is because many of mine and Elizabeth’s generation are not being influenced by the different choices of our surrounding countries. Or, maybe, because we have such inspiring politicians, such as the likes of my father. He spends so much time building a new, better England for our generation, so that we may thrive and become stronger in not only our personalities, but our country, too.” Arcing shook his head in amazement again. “If only some of my country’s children were like you.” Alice blushed modestly, “You’ll have to show me how to do it, Prime Minister Moors.” Her father laughed. “But tell me, Prime Minister Moors,” Arcing continued, “How will Great England’s plans help build a new world?” “Maybe this is something we should discuss without the children, President Arcing.” Arcing nodded. “Run along, children. In fact,” he glanced at his watch, “The conference is in an hour. Why don’t you go and get changed.” Alice nodded and rose, taking Rosemary’s hand and smiling sweetly. She left the room, and took the lift up to the nursery. “You’re six next week, Rosy.” Alice told her, as the lift doors opened into a bright, cheerful yellow room with gingham curtains and chairs. “I know.” she replied seriously, “I want a pink horse called Flower-Puffball.” “And I’m sure we can try.” said Alice, matching her serious tone. She shot an amused look at the nanny, Jonesy. “Hello, Rosemary, Alice. Conference clothes?” Alice smiled and nodded. “Thanks, Jonesy.” She stepped back into the lift. Time to listen.
“Let’s get down to business, Moors. No more namby-pamby children’s world peace goals. What are you doing? And how am I part of it?” Moors gave a short, hard laugh. “It’s simple, Arcing. You’re not.” “Then why bring me over here?” “It looks good. Can’t you see it? The Daily Mail- President Arcing helps shape Great England’s Future.” Moors’ voice dropped to a quiet, menacing whisper, “If you aren’t dead or in a coma by next week, then I will give you a million pounds. If you are...sorry. Just sign. Simple.” Alice heard the rustle of paper being pushed across a table. Her ear was numb from being pressed up against the salon floor, but through the carpet she could hear everything; albeit slightly muffled. “And what do I get?” asked Arcing. “One million pounds. Publicity. Just sign.” “Million dollars or pounds?” “Pounds. Naturally.” “That gives me what...” “One point double five three one million.” There was a pause. “I’ll sign.” “Well done.” There was the scratch of a pen as Arcing signed. “Now. Press Conference. We have fifty minutes to get ready. Please don’t be late, and say the right things.” “I’ll make sure of it.” “Make sure that you do.” There was a creak as the door opened, followed by dying footsteps. A clink of glass against glass, followed by the trickle of a liquid confirmed that Moors was drinking something that an inspirational leader trying to come to an alcohol and drug free future shouldn’t be. There was a return of footsteps and the door re-opened. “What?” asked Moors roughly, and Alice could almost see Arcing’s eyebrows rise. “Moors, you never told me what your master plan was.” The sarcasm dripped like honey from Arcing’s tongue. “Ah...yes.” there was the noise of a drawer being opened, the heavy thump of a folder or a wad of paper being placed on the desk, then fingers rifling through endless pages. “Here. Read this.” Moors gave a smug laugh. Arcing gasped. “No...No!” his voice was a mixture of horror and disbelief, “You...you tricked me! How could you? You...you traitor! You’re nothing more than a hateful, two-faced rat!” “And there’s nothing you can do about, Arcing, so quit your pathetic snivelling. You signed, and that’s all there is too it.” Moors voice was quite the opposite, bored, yet a lazy power beneath. “You don’t deserve this.” snarled Arcing, slamming a fist onto a desk, “I wish we had never become allies. I wish I’d never heard of you, you weak, lying, stuck-up fool!” “Now, that’s harsh.” drawled Moors, “Anyway. It’s done. And you can do nothing about it. Now, just to rub it in, I’ll leave this paper here so you can see. Oh! Half an hour. Chop, chop, fool. What will your people think?” Alice had to see that document. She pulled back the edge of the carpet and scraped at the thin wood above her father’s study with blunt scissors. But the scissors suddenly slipped from her grasp, and stuck right through the ceiling, before spiralling through the air and landing in Moors’ handcrafted mahogany oak table, quivering slightly. “What the...” Alice froze, sitting up suddenly. Oh god. She sprinted to her closet, pressing the pear with frantic fear, tripping over to the small silver box and stabbing the buttons with shaking fingers. Her heart hammered in her ears. She pulled on a lavender dress and darker purple shoes, all with fear tugging at her, making her clumsy and pale. One glance at that paper was all it had took to confirm her worst fear. Her father was attempting to take over the world.
Moors crashed up the staircase. “ALICE MOORS!” he yelled, his face purple with rage. If she had seen that document, then she knew everything. His whole future relied on that one document, and the only people who should have seen it were him and Arcing. Arcing...well. He wasn’t a problem. In that department, everything was taken care of. But his own daughter? That was a different story. You can’t kill your daughter. Well. There wasn’t anything stopping him; he wasn’t likely to miss her, insufferable child, but imagine the press! “ALICE!”
He couldn’t kill her. Could he?
Alice heard him long before she saw him. The heavy thumps of his footsteps were enough to send her into a frenzied panic. She tugged at the bookcase, throwing the book to the floor, and ran in. She kicked back the carpet, but it rolled back. Alice cursed, and wedged the door open as she ran back out. Grabbing a stapler from her cabinet, she stapled down the carpet and shoved it down the chute where her hair and nail clippings went. She breathed a sigh of relief and threw herself into the chair. The hands came down automatically, but even the padded tips of the spider hands that massaged her throbbing head failed to relax her; they felt like they were probing into her mind, digging into the crevices and gaps, weaving their way through, asking ‘what is he going to do to Arcing?’ over and over again “Alice!” despite the thick wood muffling his voice somewhat, Alice knew that saying her father’s voice was furious would be an understatement. He sounded livid. He crashed through the door and towered above her. “What do you know.” It wasn’t a question, it was a demand. “W-what do you mean, Dad?” she asked, stopping the electric hands. But even as she uttered the words, she knew they sounded fake, high and desperate. “What do you mean?” he imitated he voice, but there was a snarling, rough edge behind it. “You know what I mean, girl. Scissors. Falling through the sky. Magic, is it?” he gave a quiet laugh. “By the time I’ve finished counting to three, you going to have told me everything you know. And not just about the document. About your mother. “One” “I don’t know anything.” Her voice shook. “Two.” “I don’t know anything.” She shrieked, panicked. “Three. Times up, girl.” He slapped her once, hard, across the temple. Black spots fizzed up in front of her. “Now. What do you know? Or I swear I’ll send your sister the same place as your mother.” “Lay a finger on Rosy and I swear to god I’ll kill you.” she snarled, “You’re just a prejudiced, lying, two-faced bully with no heart.” Moors smiled evilly and shrugged. “But I’m a bully with power, Alice. And I always get my own way.” “You make me sick.” she spat. “And I really don’t care, and if you don’t tell me...”he let the threat hang in the air. Alice swallowed. “All...” she took a deep breath, “All I saw were you and the President talking. I did try to see the document, but the carpet is fastened down. I don’t know how the scissors got there, but the hair chute runs beneath your office. Perhaps there was a malfunction. I don’t know.” “Who is the technician?” “Brook...Brook Trilby.”she murmered. “I’ll see that she goes.” “What?” Alice gasped. “I don’t have time for slackers, Alice Moors. I need everything to run smoothly. We have ten minutes. Don’t be late.” He nodded curtly and left. Alice buried her head in her hands. She’d lost someone their job, all because of her curiosity to see something she’d find out less than an hour later. What had she done? She knew that her father’s version of firing was different to hers...his was probably putting some one in the firing line.
The assassin stood casually outside the conference room window. His gun was a new model, black and deadly both at long and short distance. His blue-grey gaze scanned the room, before falling on the prime minister’s eldest daughter. She was pretty, but a slight red mark on her face that she was self-consciously touching marred her pale skin. She dropped her head slightly, allowing her long auburn curls to cover her cheek. Alice. His second priority. “Get the girl if you can,” the prime minister had said, only minutes before, “But if not, the pay won’t change. The other’s more important.” He’d nodded. Nothing gave him more thrill, more kicks, than watching the bullet spin through the air in a graceful arc, the targets’ body rippling before falling to the floor, face frozen. He could try and kill her.
He never felt guilty. He didn’t know what it felt like, guilt. He hardly knew the meaning of the word. Guilt was for the pathetic do-gooders that this country was full of. To him, the target would die anyway; the blood would still be spilt sooner or later. Nearly time. A small smile crept over his helmeted face, eyes lighting up behind the black mask, adrenalin pulsing through his veins. His human thoughts turned off, and his animal instincts took over. The speech started.
“New England shall step forward in unison with the USA to a better, safer, brighter future. The generation of my daughters shall learn to respect their leaders, yet aspire to be them too. To do this, I have added...a few new laws. These consist of-”
Finger on trigger.

Pull it back.

Bang.

Direct hit.

Carnage.

Chaos.

Screaming.

Goodnight, President.